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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957319">Heaven's Not Watching</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sequesters/pseuds/Sequesters'>Sequesters</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Autistic Meltdown, Aziraphale has a meltdown and Crowley helps him recover, Crowley is good in a crisis, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind the Tags, Self-Injurious Meltdown, bit more intense than I usually write, does this count as, implied suicidal ideation? it's a misunderstanding due to vague language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:54:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,681</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24957319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sequesters/pseuds/Sequesters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Angel, what’s-”<br/>“I need you to come over. Right away.”<br/>“Sure, I can clear my schedule, but what’s-what’s the occasion?”<br/>“I...I believe that I am a danger to myself,” Aziraphale said, breathing heavily, “Alone, that is. Please come to the bookshop, post haste. I-oh God, I <i>need</i> you.”</p><p>Six thousand years of repression, what happens when you take off the lid?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>274</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heaven's Not Watching</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale was having...a difficult time adjusting.</p><p>He wasn’t much of a fan of change under normal circumstances, as one could immediately tell upon meeting him. One didn’t wear the same jacket for two hundred years for nothing, of course. But this was the biggest change he had ever had to deal with. He was left alone by Heaven, free from their stifling structure for the first time in his existence, and he felt a bit like a ship set adrift on the open sea without any navigator.</p><p>It was all worth it, of course. Finally feeling like he had some sort of privacy in his day to day life, being able to see Crowley without worry, it was all very nice.</p><p>But it meant he had to carve out a new structure and a new routine for himself, so he didn’t just wander about aimlessly all the livelong day.</p><p>He started off by making himself a cup of tea in the morning, every morning. It was a small thing that he could look forward to, something that announced to the world (and more importantly, him) that he was up, and ready for the day.</p><p>This particular morning wasn’t anything different, of course. He was using one of his favorite teapots—one that he had purchased in the 1920s during his brief stint in Japan. It was a lovely little thing, white with gold trim, that had an even lovelier flower hand-painted on the side.</p><p>But as he walked out of the kitchen with the pot of tea in his hands, his jacket caught on the doorknob.</p><p>He stumbled as his torso was dragged backwards, losing his grip on his precious teapot and watching helplessly as it fell to the floor, shattering on impact.</p><p>He stared down at the broken pieces of his morning routine, all over the ground, and felt a familiar feeling of rage start to bubble up from deep in his gut.</p><p>This was the moment that Aziraphale would normally scold himself into normalcy.</p><p>Heaven was watching.</p><p>He had better not step out of line.</p><p>Heaven was watching.</p><p>Tamp down on that wave of feeling until it makes you sick, bite your cheek until it bleeds, let it PASS.</p><p>For God’s sake, Heaven was <em> watching! </em></p><p>But it wasn’t. Not anymore.</p><p>So it kept building and building, racing unchecked through his system until he <em> screamed. </em></p><p>He took another deep breath.</p><p>His throat hadn’t decided on whether he was going to cry, or scream again, so it did some unholy hybrid of both, discomfort crawling up and around his skin.</p><p>It was a mistake, he dimly thought, a <em> huge </em> mistake, to let it get this far, he should have stopped it already-</p><p>But heaven’s not WATCHING-</p><p>White-hot emotions poured through his veins, he felt awful, he felt <em> guilty </em>, he felt so SHARP-</p><p>SLAP!</p><p>His ear rang with the force of the blow he delivered to the side of his face, but that didn’t stop him from doing it again. And again. And again, as if his arm was on a feedback loop he couldn't control.  It <em>hurt</em>, of course, but it hurt less than the roiling emotions that he could no longer identify, that blurry mash of <em> guiltguiltguiltguiltshameshameshameshame- </em></p><p>He took back control of his arms by fisting his hands in his hair, kicking out with his feet.</p><p>He was crying, he thought.</p><p>He was sobbing, he thought.</p><p>He was...<em> wavering. </em></p><p>The outline of his corporation was wavering, cracking, blistering in places, as his true form began to leak out due to the sheer magnitude of his emotional distress.</p><p>And with that, came the urge to get out.</p><p>This damp, cramped place was too small, he needed out of the bookshop, right NOW.</p><p>Aziraphale stumbled out of the shop, head fuzzy, edge of his corporation blurring and shimmering in patches of be-not-afraid Principality. He <em> mustn’t </em> get discorporated in this way, there would be <em> paperwork. </em></p><p>Except there wouldn’t be, not anymore, Upstairs wouldn’t even GIVE him a new body if this one went-</p><p>And that’s when Aziraphale stumbled off the curb and nearly got discorporated by a vehicle instead.</p><p>Angelic reflexes were fast, much faster than humans and even most demons, but Aziraphale was feeling a bit, shall we say, <em> under the weather, </em> and he felt the lorry graze his coat as he flung himself inelegantly back onto the sidewalk, skinning his corporation’s knees and elbows on the rough grit.</p><p>Down on the ground, face-to-face with the well-travelled concrete, he had a moment of clarity.</p><p>The clouds parted, the eye of the storm shone upon him for that one, single, shining thought to get through.</p><p>He needed to call <em> Crowley. </em></p><p>Having a goal helped. One thing at a time. Stand on two shaky legs. Through the bookshop door. Walk to the phone. Pick up the receiver. Recall the number. Spin the rotary dial. Listen for the tone. Pray that he picks up the phone.</p><p>Breathe.</p><p>“Hullo?”</p><p>Aziraphale nearly cried with relief.</p><p>“Crowley!!”</p><p>“Angel, what’s-”</p><p>“I need you to come over. Right away.”</p><p>“Sure, I can clear my schedule, but what’s-what’s the occasion?”</p><p>“I...I believe that I am a danger to myself,” Aziraphale said, breathing heavily, “Alone, that is. Please come to the bookshop, post haste. I-oh God, I <em> need </em> you.”</p><p>Crowley burst through the door not four seconds later.</p><p>“Aziraphale?” came his panicked voice.</p><p>Aziraphale placed the phone back down and relaxed. He could feel his wild, untamed cracks and edges slowly mending up, feeding off of Crowley’s example and re-learning how to comport himself through the demon in front of him.</p><p>“Aziraphale, talk to me, are you okay-” Crowley said, striding purposefully toward him.</p><p>Aziraphale took one single look at the concern in the demon’s face, at the outpouring of care in his aura, and promptly burst into tears.</p><p>“Oh-oh no, it’s alright, I-”</p><p>Aziraphale <em> wailed </em>, a fresh wave of sorrow and shame barrelling through him, reopening the sealing wounds in his corporation.</p><p>“Oh-ngk-oh jeez, okay, okay, uh-”</p><p>Crowley snapped his fingers, and they both disappeared.</p><p>They reappeared in a garden, of all places.</p><p>Aziraphale abruptly stopped crying, and turned to face Crowley, a question in his eyes.</p><p>“My mate’s place,” Crowley offered quickly, as an explanation, “South Downs. He’s out for the week. It’s the...calmest place I know.”</p><p>Verdant greens littered the place, plants and trees from all over the world gently swaying in the breeze, absolutely REEKING of the love and care poured into them. It was raining, just lightly, and the water droplets rolled off of the leaves and plinked down into the dirt, softening it but not muddying it…</p><p>The whole sensory experience was just <em> divine </em>.</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t know how long he stood in the rain, walking amongst the gorgeous plants. It was long enough for the droplets to soak through every layer of his clothing, but the creeping cold felt more like a soothing balm on his strained corporation, sizzling off of the bits of exposed true form as the wounds closed, and healed.</p><p>Aziraphale leaned down to touch the earth, laying a blessing upon the whole garden, but came away feeling like it had blessed HIM.</p><p>He wandered back to where Crowley had sprawled out on a bench, pretending like he wasn’t watching.</p><p>Aziraphale sat down to his right, and held out his hand.</p><p>“I’m ready to go back now.”</p><p>They appeared with a <em> pop </em> back in his bookshop, and with another miracle were both as dry as a bone.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” asked Crowley.</p><p>“Much better, thank you,” Aziraphale sighed, leaning back on the sofa, “That was simply <em> lovely </em>.”</p><p>Crowley made a broken sound, and slumped next to him.</p><p>“You <em> scared </em> me angel, on the phone,” he said into his hands, “You made it sound like you were going to-going t-to-”</p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he realized the implications of his message.</p><p>“Oh! My dear, I am so sorry, I promise you I didn’t mean <em> that, </em>” he said in a rush.</p><p>“What-what <em> did </em> you mean, then?”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed.</p><p>“It all seems rather silly, now,” Aziraphale muttered, “I would rather not say.”</p><p>Crowley’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>“I would rather not say,” Aziraphale sniffed, shame crawling all over his skin and threatening to break through the cracks once more, “You wouldn’t look at me the same.”</p><p>“You don’t KNOW that,” Crowley pleaded, “And I can’t deny that I’m still <em> worried </em> about you, angel, by the very least it looks as though someone slapped you in the <em> face </em>.”</p><p>“Somebody <em> did, </em>” Aziraphale murmured, redfaced with shame, “It was ME.”</p><p>“Oh,” said Crowley, clearly taken aback, “Why?”</p><p>Aziraphale stared very hard at the bookshop door, thinking on it.</p><p>“I was...overcome,” he decided on.</p><p>Crowley shifted, trying desperately not to look out of his depth.</p><p>“By...by what?”</p><p>“Everything?” Aziraphale tried, pursing his lips.</p><p>Now that his true form was no longer threatening to break through, and his corporation felt truly under his control once more, the weight of what he had done was setting in. A complete apocalyptic breakdown, after six thousand years of control, how pathetic was that? The heaviness of emotion sunk in on him and his vision swam.</p><p>Aziraphale let out a quiet sob, gripping his hair and pressing his sleeves to his eyes.</p><p>“Would you please tell me what happened?” said Crowley, worry dripping from his voice.</p><p>Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head violently.</p><p>“Well, mind if I take a guess?”</p><p>Aziraphale shrugged.</p><p>“<em> I </em> think you had a meltdown. A violent meltdown. Ssself injurioussss, even. Correct me if I’m wrong,” Crowley said, looking very much like he was hoping to be wrong.</p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes continued to leak tears as he simply nodded.</p><p>Crowley took a breath. “S’alright. Happens to us all. H-have you had one before?”</p><p>“N-no,” Aziraphale said, “Never been...alone enough.”</p><p>He fell silent, for a time.</p><p>Crowley waited.</p><p>When he spoke again, it was hardly above a whisper.</p><p>“I made some tea this morning,” he said,” In my favorite pot. But I wasn’t careful enough, and it fell to the ground and shattered.”</p><p>He managed a brief grimace, that was trying to be a smile. “I told you, it seems rather silly now.”</p><p>“Not at all,” Crowley said reassuringly.</p><p>“Usually, I can get through moments like this without incident,” Aziraphale continued, “Due to the constant fear that someone is watching my every move to make sure that I’m acting angelically. I<em> have </em> had some well-timed visits from Gabriel that prove it well enough. But now I KNOW they aren’t watching, and because of that there was no reason for me to hold back, and it-”</p><p>Crowley reached over and loosely grabbed a hand.</p><p>“It wouldn’t stop,” Aziraphale said, eyes focused on the patterned rug in front of his sofa, “I was overwhelmed, <em> consumed </em> by the feeling. Nearly discorporated from it.”</p><p>He sat in silence, tracing the rug’s pattern with his eyes and tracing Crowley’s hand with his thumb.</p><p>“I’ve got a feeling, and correct me if I’m wrong, that you have been bottling things up for entirely too long,” Crowley finally said.</p><p>“You’re right,” Aziraphale sighed, looking up at him, “I’ve been careless. I won’t scare you like that again.”</p><p>“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Crowley said, sitting straight up in his earnestness, “Aziraphale, you know that I’m a demon, which comes with its own baggage, but I’m not afraid to-to shake a stick at God, you know? If I’m angry, well, then I can be angry! I’m allowed, and EXPECTED, to express negative emotions, preferably into the general populace, for influencing purposes.”</p><p>He pointed a finger at Aziraphale’s nose.</p><p>“You, however, have been putting your every negative emotion into a pressure cooker for six millenia, and now you’re surprised that it <em> exploded </em> beyond your control.”</p><p>“I thought you were the one who invented the pressure cooker,” mumbled Aziraphale, “Just so you could make them explode on command.”</p><p>“Not my finest moment,” Crowley cringed.</p><p>“But I believe you’re right,” Aziraphale said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, “Tell your friend thank you, from me, for allowing me to see his plants,” he said, “They are simply <em> stunning </em>.”</p><p>Crowley squirmed.</p><p>“I lied. It wasn’t my mate’s house,” he blurted.</p><p>Aziraphale tilted his head. “Oh?”</p><p>“It’s...it’s mine.”</p><p>“<em>Ooh</em>,” Aziraphale said, leaning forward in interest.</p><p>Crowley rubbed his neck with an embarrassed hand. “I don’t live there, of course. I just...needed more room. For, the, ah, bigger plants.”</p><p>“South Downs is nice,” Aziraphale sighed, leaning back on the sofa.</p><p>Crowley made a funny little noise, then stood up quickly, bringing Aziraphale's hand up with him.</p><p>“Don’t leave,” Aziraphale said, tightening his hold on Crowley's hand.</p><p>“I’m not-I’m not going anywhere, I’m just-I’m getting you a cup of tea,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale released his hand to let him saunter off toward the kitchen.</p><p>One shimmer of a miracle later, he returned with Aziraphale’s teapot, freshly put back together, and poured them both a cup.</p><p>“How do you deal with it?” Aziraphale asked abruptly, “When you feel...like-like this.”</p><p>“Oof,” Crowley said, putting his cup down, “Big question.”</p><p>He thought for a moment.</p><p>“Well, I don’t wait as long, for one,” he said, “I talk. Almost constantly! To my plants, to God Herself, not that She’s listening mind you, to, well...anything I’ve got lying around the house.”</p><p>He sat back with a grumble. “I tell you, the globe on my desk knows <em> too </em>much, I should have it sign an NDA.”</p><p>He eyed Aziraphale.</p><p>“Considering your situation,” he said, tilting his head in thought, “Might be best for you to write it down, instead. Might finally be time to dust off one of those moleskin notebooks you acquired at the turn of the millennium.”</p><p>Aziraphale nodded, considering thoughtfully.</p><p>“And, well, you-you could always write to, uh, me,” Crowley said quickly, “Or-or talk to me, ring me up, like you did before. I’m not <em> only </em> available during times of crisis.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you. However I do say, you <em> are </em> rather good in a crisis.”</p><p>Crowley put up finger guns in Aziraphale’s direction. “That’s how I’ve lived this long, angel.”</p><p>Aziraphale chuckled, realizing that that was the first time he had done so since the morning. Sitting here, with Crowley, it just felt so-so <em> normal </em> . His thoughts still ran slow, and his corporation felt like it was moving through molasses, but he felt <em> safe </em>, now that Crowley was with him.</p><p>“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, taking a sip of his tea, “For coming.”</p><p>“Anytime,” Crowley said seriously.</p><p>“So, tell me about your South Downs property,” said Aziraphale, shifting to face Crowley, “It is a <em> beautiful </em>place. Almost makes me want to invest in something down there as well. A cottage, perhaps.”</p><p>“Mine has a cottage,” Crowley blurted, “We could share, if you like.”</p><p>Aziraphale blinked in surprise.</p><p>“Aaaagh, I’m an idiot,” Crowley moaned, face in his hands, “Worst timing in the universe. Forget I said anything.”</p><p>“We’ll talk about it later,” Aziraphale said, placing a hand on Crowley’s knee, “I <em> want </em>to talk about it later, when I am in a better state. For now…”</p><p>Aziraphale reached up and smoothed back a lock of Crowley’s hair, “I would very much like to simply...enjoy your company.”</p><p>“Right, right, we’ll talk about it later.” Crowley said hurriedly, looking suddenly flustered, “No problem, no problem at all. How ‘bout you tell me, er, where you got this teapot from? Gorgeous little thing.”</p><p>“Oh!” Aziraphale squealed, “Yes of course. I can’t believe I haven’t told you yet, it was my favorite part of my Japan assignment. It was quite a beautiful shop, and that’s saying something, if you remember the aesthetics of the day…”</p><p>They sat as they always did—Aziraphale on the right and Crowley on the left of the overstuffed sofa, sipping their tea that never got cold, alternating between talking up a storm and sitting in comfortable silence well into the night.</p><p>With change all around him, Aziraphale could appreciate the things that stayed the same all the more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm a simple man, I see a character I like exhibiting traits I have, I project! I hope I wasn't offensive with this portrayal, I drew it from my own experience so if I'm the only one who experiences things like this then I guess that's just me being weird. Super hard for me to write things like meltdowns, but I did my best, and it was important to me that I finish it. </p><p>I've got a lot more fun things planned coming up, including the LAST CHAPTER of Trouble in Álfheima!! I have a few other Good Omens things coming down the pike as well, so stay tuned for whenever the hell I get those out.<br/>Hope you are all having a good day, take care of yourselves, and thanks for reading!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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